


Revenant

by thejamesoldier



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Arthur Morgan Lives, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Drama & Romance, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Human/Vampire Relationship, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampires, idk what this is but im in a mood so here we are folks, its a vampire au yo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejamesoldier/pseuds/thejamesoldier
Summary: The veil separating the dead from the living is delicate, easily pushed aside in the right places at the right times. Though there are those who wear this veil like a shroud, unable to exist on either side but haunt the grey fray in between.Arthur Morgan has sensed...things...in the lonely corners of the world, things he's never been able to explain and doesn't waste his energy trying to. The world is unforgiving and vast and beautiful and absolutely unknown -- wild. Arthur wouldn't have it any other way, it wouldn't call to him like it does if it wasn't. And the cosmic irony that he meets that which he has always left un-examined in his peripherals, in the rotting epicenter of civilization that is Saint Denis, is not lost on him.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Revenant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, another wip, but I consider myself a lost cause at this point so I've given up on consistency for the moment. The world is too chaotic right now so there, a semi-valid excuse :D I've also taken some artistic license with the canon, aside from the obvious lol, but its for the betterment of the story im trying to tell i promise !!

I've had this idea in my head for awhile, but these gorgeous pieces of art really hammered the last nail in the coffin, excuse the pun! Thought I'd share them here for yall to enjoy and get you in the mood :)

*ART CREDIT GOES TO THE AMAZINGLY TALENTED [ [_Betty Jiang_](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/w8RrWY) ] PLEASE GO SUPPORT HER ON [_Insta_](https://www.instagram.com/kawaiibettyjiang/) | [_Twitter_](https://twitter.com/BettyDesuJiang) | _[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/betty.ling.jiang) _!!!!

* * *

John Marston considers himself a haunted man.

The ghosts of his past stalk him, stepping in his footprints and breathing over his shoulder, brushing a strand of hair away from his face on a windless breeze and whispering their unintelligible sorrow in his ear when he lays under the stars chasing sleep. He hears them when he visits the places where the gang had set up camp months before their deaths, disembodied campfire songs and laughter oozing like black oil from the surrounding overgrowth, memories billowing around him and seeping into his veins. These encounters disturb him sure, but what scares John Marston are the ghosts who don't live in his shadow, the ones that aren't restricted to voices in the wind or rushes of sensation along his skin. At first John thought it had been Bill, Javier, and Dutch -- or the fact that they still prowled the earth before he killed them all, that terrified him. But being followed by his past and being _watched_ by his past are two very different things. 

John didn't come to realize this until the moment before his death. 

He could hear the sound of his wife and son galloping away towards a future he knew he would have no part of.

_Don't look back._

John faces the closed barn doors, back to the temptation of escape, and pauses a moment to take a breath before resigning himself to his fate. The dust has still not settled in the barn, particles in the air catching the light of the moon shining in a harsh column from the window on the upper floor. He walks steadily forward, one step at a time, till he reaches the doors --

Something shifts behind him, but John chalks it up to the choir of ghosts readying to welcome him home. 

He places a gentle hand on the splintering wood of one door and pushes enough to get a peak at how he'll be dying. Men -- _many_ men, too many to kill himself -- with rifles cocked and aimed stand in a line a few feet outside the threshold of the barn. Something in John sinks. He knew this was going to be his end, but actually seeing it shot that part of him that always scrapped for survival down like a sick dog. John Marston fell back a step and found himself overwhelmed with emotion. Every person who touched his life now fought for the spotlight in his mind, everything scrambling forward desperate to be remembered, to be cherished. John couldn't determine if it was comforting, distracting, horrifying, or all three, but knowing he wouldn't be able to walk out of the barn without help, he forces himself to choose. With a shaky breath in, John closes his eyes, bows his head and selects the memory of Abigail's love for him as a man, Jack's faith in him as a father, and his brother's --

A tap on his left shoulder. 

John opens his eyes, stilling. He exhales and decides to ignore the ghosts asking for his attention, he's almost there -- almost able to touch them back. John Marston braces both hands against the barn doors and gives a resolute push. The moonlight lathers him in bone white and cobalt hues, casting his killers into undecipherable silhouettes in front of him. He comes to a stop, lets a beat go by and, never one to go down without a fight, John quick draws ready to take as many of these bastards as he can down with him.

Before he can fire his first shot there is a sickening sound of flesh and muscle ripping -- no _shredding_ \-- off bone then, like dominoes, the line of men begin to collapse _,_ spluttering as they sink to the ground one after the other. John can't get a good look at what exactly is happening as its dark, but they all seem to drop their guns and clutch their necks, choking on the thick fountains of their own blood as a swift shadow tears through the line. Out of instinct and sheer terror John starts firing on the dying men, unable to stop himself. 

Even after they're all long dead laying limp on the ground and surrounded by a slowly growing pool of dark blood, John can't stop firing at them. The dull click of his empty magazine chamber doesn't register in his mind as he begins to hyperventilate, staring at the bleeding corpses shrouded by the shadows. The moonlight turns the ocean of blood at his feet into liquid rubies and, still firing an empty pistol, John approaches the massacre on unsteady feet. The whites of his eyes shine through the night as he gets a good look at the state of the bodies. All of the mens' throats are torn clean through, some heads almost entirely decapitated and only holding on by a tendon or two. Their faces...John can hardly see them, but the bits the moon and stars reveal to him are expressions of unimaginable, unexplainable terror. 

"John." 

John snaps his head up so fast he wonders if it tumbled right off his neck. Ice freezes his blood solid in his veins. Was that voice in his head? It sounded like...like...

"John." 

A figure who John hadn't even _noticed_ slowly unfurls from a low crouch in the middle of the pile of corpses almost directly in front of him. Eyes glowing yellow, like a wolf's, pierce through the darkness as the rest of the creature remains a looming silhouette. 

"John." The thing repeats and John can't move can't -- that's, that voice is -- it's, "Go to your family John." 

John is torn between fleeing for his life and staying rooted to the spot because he _knows_ that voice. It's warped and disjointed, like an animal trying to speak around a growl, but John would know that voice anywhere. It's a voice he never thought he'd hear again. 

"A-Arthur?" John finds himself hushing, taking a step back while his trigger finger still reflexively fires his empty pistol, "Why do you have the voice of my brother? H-He's dead." 

The monster pauses at that, even though it was already so unnaturally still amongst all that gore. John can't bring himself to look away from it's unblinking yellow eyes, maybe its because he doesn't want his gaze to fall to the horrors at the creature's feet again.

"He's still dead, John."

The voice is different now, more like how John remembers it -- layered, hiding so many secrets, carrying so many burdens, fighting so many battles, yet undeniably _sad_. 

"Why do you s-sound like him?" John wishes he would stop stuttering, stop showing fear and weakness in front of this thing, but he can't get his brain in any kind of order. 

A wet sigh deflates the creatures chest, it's eyes close and reopen a beat later this time staring at the ground, "Run John, run and don't look back."

That's almost exactly what Arthur had said to him, said to John when he --

"Did hell spit you back out?" Comes the rasping horrified whisper from John's tight throat. 

The creature snaps its haunting gaze back up at John, glowing eyes reducing to slits, "Yes." 

A pause, then John says with a shiver stealing down his spine, "But you deserved bet --,"

"John!" It snarls, suddenly furious, "Arthur Morgan is dead. And he got what he deserved." 

"Arthur you're, you're my _brother_." Is all John can say in response, all he can manage. 

It seems to soften the creature with Arthur's voice because his silhouetted shoulders slump, his fists uncurl, and his eyes widen. And almost like it's against it's will, the monster repeats Arthur Morgan's last words to his brother,

"I know," Then one more broken, "I know." 

Suddenly the monster turns its head, sharply, like it heard something though John hadn't heard anything. He has so many questions, so many fears, so many things he's wanted to say to Arthur. 

"She's coming," It murmurs, too quietly for John's human ears to pick up. 

"Arthur --,"

"John run, get out of here and go to your family," It urges him, not taking it's eyes away from the dark horizon she'll be appearing on any moment now. 

"What? Arthur I -- you --,"

"JOHN." Suddenly the creature is an inch from John's face, teeth bared, his entire face wet with fresh blood and reeking of copper. 

John gives a delayed flinch at the impossible proximity and staggers back at the tone of voice. It no longer sounded like his Arthur but more like the throat ripping monster John first encountered. 

"Go. Now." It nearly hisses, shoving John's chest hard, pushing him back towards the barn, "Mount your fastest horse and run to Abigail and Jack." 

John could have sworn he heard the thing's voice stutter over the names of his wife and son, but he wasn't allowed much time to dwell on it as he was repeatedly pushed backwards by clawed fingers. Once John's back had hit the barn doors, the creature reaches a cold hand to cover his that was still firing empty rounds. With a sharp intake of breath at the gentle touch, John realizes he was still squeezing the trigger and forces himself to stop.

"Live well John," What's left of his brother says, "No harm will come to you or your family again." 

John hears the promise in his words and the threat to all those who would test it. And despite the confusing mix of terror and comfort he felt at hearing that, John believes him -- it. Then with one last look at those unnatural yellow eyes now wide and urging, John turns, races to mount his fastest stallion bare back, and thunders away from the nightmare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may or may not have listened to Evanescence's Synthesis album while writing this lol. also let me know what you think if you want by dropping a comment below or hitting me up on tumblr (@reddeadwitcher) where you can find my edits and other posts relating to rdr2 and games and stuff! I also have a marvel blog (@thejamesoldier) where i post all my writing that you're welcome to check out as well if you want :)


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